Edith's Sweet Treat
by idowanttobestuckwithyou
Summary: January 3rd, 1926. Fluffy silly fluff. Some speculation on series 6 Christmas special.


**This was supposed to be a cute little drabble, but it expanded itself. Some speculation as to the Christmas special, but we'll see soon if I was right about any of it. I'm quite frankly shocked that the first Downton fic I've ever written was an upstairs fic, but I do love Edith. This was a Christmas gift for superfluousbananas on tumblr.**

Edith awoke sweating, quickly throwing off the top of her two blankets. More comfortable, she settled back to sleep again, turning and reaching out to the left of the bed as she did. But instead of the solid, warm torso of her new husband, her hands met nothing but empty sheets. Accepting that if he was awake and out of bed, she likely should be too, Edith sat up. She gave herself a luxurious stretch while looking around the room. Sure enough, there was no sight of her groom of two days, save a hearty fire roaring in the fireplace.

 _That dear man,_ Edith thought, _making a fire first thing in the morning so I wouldn't wake up cold._

Edith could hardly believe how happy she was. After years of feeling unloved, unwanted, or unlucky, she finally had more than she could have ever hoped for. The means by which her happiness came about were odd, to be sure. To have her ex-fiance's mother come storming into Downton Abbey a week before Christmas, demanding that Edith and Bertie (who was visiting a friend in Durham at the time) reconcile and marry was quite the turn of events.

When Lady Pelham had first introduced herself Edith fully believed she was in for a Lady Catherine de Bourgh-like confrontation. She expected Lady Pelham to hate her. But upon hearing that she wanted Edith and her son to marry, Edith tried to defer, not wanting to let her know of the reason behind their split. Lady Pelham was persistent and perceptive, however, and soon coaxed the truth out of Edith. She was quiet as Edith shared her story, politely standing and thanking her for her honesty before sweeping out of Downton without another word.

Edith expected that to be the end of it. Much to her surprise later that evening Bertie showed up. She was still unaware of the details of Lady Pelham's conversation with her son, but whatever was said was enough to convince Bertie to drive from Durham to Downton that very day. He didn't apologize for breaking the agreement. _I never blamed him anyway,_ Edith thought, but he did ask _begged_ for another chance. A chance to love and care for both Edith and Marigold for the rest of his life. Edith happily accepted.

She wouldn't believe it was really true, that she could finally be so happy until New Year's Day, when the ring was placed on her finger, Bertie's voice shaking as he vowed to spend his life loving her. _He's certainly done a good job at that these past two days._

She rose from the bed as she continued musing about her husband, donning her dressing gown. The room may have warmed from the fire, but the floor was still chilly and Edith scurried to find her slippers. She would need them if she was to leave the warmth of the bedroom and explore their honeymoon cottage. They were spending a week and a half alone in the little house on the coast of the Netherlands, before venturing on to Paris. They had arrived late in the afternoon the day before and were a bit too occupied on their first full day married to pay attention to the cottage's interior.

Just as Edith discovered her slippers, Bertie strolled in. He was wearing his pyjamas and dressing gown and pushing a cart with a covered tray, and began tutting at his bride.

"Ah ah ah, you are a married lady now my dear," Bertie said with a false sense of admonition.

"I'm aware," Edith returned, a slight blush covering her cheeks as she thought on the phrase, "but what have I done wrong?"

"Married ladies have breakfast in bed," he replied smiling, "and as long as it is in my power to do so and you desire it, you shall have breakfast in bed. Though I do hope today at least you'll allow a breach in etiquette so that I may join you."

Edith stepped up close to Bertie, smiling and nodding her head before leaning in to give him a deep and loving kiss. Her arms snaked around her neck while his hands settled at her waist. She felt him smile into the kiss, his teeth knocking against hers as she tasted the tooth powder still fresh in his mouth. She parted from him with a happy sigh.

"Good morning," she exhaled.

"Good morning," he mirrored her expression, "now into bed."

Edith let out a slight giggle as she climbed back on the large bed, sitting up against the pillows. She watched as her husband draped a napkin across her lap, then lifted the seemingly heavy tray off the cart and placed it in front of her. With a great deal of showmanship, he whisked the lid off of the tray, uncovering loads of delectable goodies. There was toast with jam of course, eggs, scrambled for her, poached for him, sausage, fried tomatoes, two glasses of water, a cup of coffee for her, a cup of tea for him, and right in the middle were two large pastries that Edith had never seen before.

"Where did all of this come from?" Edith asked as she tucked into the eggs, "did you hire a chef for the week?"

"No," replied Bertie, "I made it."

At Edith's _I'm-surprised-but-I-can't-talk-because-this-is-too-delicious-and-my-mouth-is-full_ look, he chuckled.

"I have lived on my own in an estate agent's cottage for many years my dear," he said reaching for some toast, "it was learn to cook or constantly eat out at a pub, which is not an appealing option."

"That makes sense," Edith smiled, "I'm simply surprised I didn't know it before now."

"One of the perks of being married. We get to learn all sorts of things we never knew about each other."

At that Edith gave Bertie a warm smile, resulting in him leaning in for another kiss, this one tasting of a mixture of eggs, toast, and tea.

"Besides," Bertie continued, "I already knew the basics of cooking and found I quite enjoyed it. We had a Swedish cook when I was growing up. She was quite kind so I ended up spending a lot of time in the kitchen. It was she who taught me how to make these," he gestured to the mysterious pastries.

"Yes," Edith responded, "what are those? I've not had them before."

"She called them _kanelbulle_ ," he said as he cut a bite out of one of the pieces, "you first make a pastry dough and roll it out, then cover it in a layer of cinnamon and roll the dough up."

"Roll it?" Edith asked as she examined the treat.

"Yes that's how it gets its swirling appearance," he gestured to the pastry, "you slice the roll into pieces you see, and bake them. You can eat them plain, but I always enjoyed it more when our cook added icing."

"It looks and sounds interesting," Edith said while cutting into her piece, the icing oozing out onto the plate.

"Then try it," Bertie said before popping a bite into his mouth.

Edith did, and could not help but let out a moan as the still-warm flavors coated her tongue. She quickly cut herself another piece. Her moan had stopped Bertie in his tracks, and he watched as his beautiful bride delighted in the breakfast he'd made for her.

"This is delicious," Edith mumbled with her mouth still filled, "what did you say it was called?"

"Our cook called it _kanelbulle_ ," Bertie answered, "which I believe in English means 'cinnamon roll'."

"I love it," Edith sighed.

"Good," Bertie smiled, wiping a bit of icing off the corner of Edith's mouth, "I was worried you would think it too sweet."

"It's not too sweet," Edith sat down her fork and knife on the tray, "but it is very sweet. Just like you." She looked at her husband on those last words.

Their third kiss that morning tasted of _kanelbulle._

Edith began laughing into the kiss, resulting Bertie breaking away to gaze at her.

"What's so funny?" he inquired.

"You're so sweet," she replied, "that perhaps I shall call you 'my cinnamon roll'."

* * *

 **There you have it! Thanks for reading. For anyone wondering, I looked up the history of cinnamon rolls. It seems they were invented in Sweden, thus the Swedish cook. And I could not find for the LIFE of me when they were invented, or if they have icing in England, so I took some creative license.**

 **If anyone reading this doesn't know, this is based on a meme on tumblr. There was an article from The Onion, a fake news website, titled "Beautiful Cinnamon Roll Too Good For This World, Too Pure". This silly sentence turned into the perfect way to describe sweet, somewhat innocent, and loveable fictional characters. Bertie embodies this SO AGGRESSIVELY that this fic slipped out. The cinnamon roll makes some cinnamon rolls.**


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